River of Life, The
The more we live, more brief appear
Our life's succeeding stages;
A day to childhood seems a year,
And years like passing ages.
The gladsome current of our youth,
Ere passion yet disorders,
Steals lingering like a river smooth
Along its grassy borders.
But as the careworn cheek grows wan,
And sorrow's shafts fly thicker,
Ye stars, that measure life to man,
Why seem your courses quicker?
When joys have lost their bloom and breath,
And life itself is vapid,
Why, as we reach the Falls of Death
Feel we its tide more rapid?
It may be strange—yet who would change
Time's course to slower speeding,
When one by one our friends have gone,
And left our bosoms bleeding?
Heaven gives our years of fading strength
Indemnifying fleetness;
And those of youth, a seeming length,
Proportion'd to their sweetness.
poem by Thomas Campbell
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The River of Life
The more we live, more brief appear
Our life's succeeding stages;
A day to childhood seems a year,
And years like passing ages.
The gladsome current of our youth,
Ere passion yet disorders,
Steals lingering like a river smooth
Along its grassy borders.
But as the careworn cheek grows wan,
And sorrow's shafts fly thicker,
Ye stars, that measure life to man,
Why seem your courses quicker?
When joys have lost their bloom and breath,
And life itself is vapid,
Why, as we reach the Falls of Death
Feel we its tide more rapid?
It may be strange—yet who would change
Time's course to slower speeding,
When one by one our friends have gone,
And left our bosoms bleeding?
Heaven gives our years of fading strength
Indemnifying fleetness;
And those of youth, a seeming length,
Proportion'd to their sweetness.
poem by Thomas Campbell
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Forever
THOSE we love truly never die,
Though year by year the sad memorial wreath,
A ring and flowers, types of life and death,
Are laid upon their graves.
For death the pure life saves,
And life all pure is love; and love can reach
From heaven to earth, and nobler lessons teach
Than those by mortals read.
Well blest is he who has a dear one dead:
A friend he has whose face will never change—
A dear communion that will not grow strange;
The anchor of a love is death.
The blessed sweetness of a loving breath
Will reach our cheek all fresh through weary years.
For her who died long since, ah! waste not tears,
She's thine unto the end.
Thank God for one dead friend,
With face still radiant with the light of truth,
Whose love comes laden with the scent of youth,
Through twenty years of death.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Getting Old
When you’re young you think you know it all
Then you get old and life begins to unfold.
In their youth they don’t think ahead
The future is something they do not dread.
They feel that everything in life they can control
They’re young and strong and very bold.
Aaaah! Those beautiful days bring back memories
Of how simple life used to be.
Youth had respect for the elderly
And their fellow man.
Now the elderly they try to scam.
When they are older they will see
They want respect and to live with dignity.
they are young and they don’t seem to understand
That with age you may need a helping hand.
Everything in life comes in stages
It’s like a book when you turn the pages
It gets deeper and keeps you enthralled
Until the time that you reach the end
And you’ve lost all your family and friends.
The First stage is when you are a child
And someone is taking care of you for that while.
The Second stage is when you become a teen
And you feel like a king or queen.
You feel that you can not get old
This is what you believe at this stage in your life
Because you’re not looking at the struggles and strife.
The Third stage is the adolescent years
And you feel you’re in control and lose your fears.
The final stage is when you become old and gray
And your youthful years have slipped away.
You look back and ask yourself!
where did All those years go?
Why did I waste so much time?
And the most important thing is
That I am so glad I made you mine
For with you by my side I had a life divine.
So to the youth who have not gotten to this stage
Don’t get angry, and get rid of your rage.
There is no way to turn back the time
For time just moves straight ahead
You’re getting to the point that you now dread.
WELCOME TO OLD AGE! HA-HA
poem by Louis Rams
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Life is but a lesson...
At birth I was ripped from my warm safe place,
Yet now I fear death so I flee it with haste.
As a babe in my youth I yearned for more years,
But as time's passed me by it's age I now fear...
Into this world I was born and life gave me breath,
Now each path that I choose always leads to my death.
For both death and life are old inseperable friends,
My life's but a lesson just a means to an end...
If I live life to the fullest will time pass me by?
If I start asking questions will I ever know why?
Wisdom is gibberish and gibberish is clear,
What I most wanted once is now what I most fear...
When I want most to live will it be time to die?
I dont want life to end! Will that be my last cry?
I think death must be life and to leave is to stay,
So I pray hell is heaven when my life slips away...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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Youth Age Life Lesson Trial Courses
in youth we witness
growth of hair
rapid grown fast
in older ages we witness
fall out of life's
lesson trial courses
in youth time reflective
should have been taken
after nightmare horses
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Happy Childhood Memories
Happy childhood memories the best memories of all
And my younger years in Millstreet I will always recall
On evenings in Summer up to the mid Fall
In the Townpark at the West End we played gaelic football
My friends of my youth where might they be today
Like me have the years left them balder and gray
Though some of them in the home Parish did stay
In life one might say we just went our own way
Since those days so many years have come and gone
And time does not wait it just ticks on and on
Many of the friends of my youth I may not see again
Though good memories of them with me does remain
And in fancy I chase the football up and down
With my happy young friends in the Park of the Town.
poem by Francis Duggan
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To H.a.b. On My Forty-seventh Birthday
WHEN one is forty years and seven,
Is seven and forty sad years old,
He looks not onward for his Heaven,
The future is too blank and cold,
Its pale flowers smell of graveyard mould;
He looks back to his lifeful past;
If age is silver, youth is gold:-
Could youth but last, could youth but last!
He turns back toward his youthful past
A-throb with life and love and hope,
Whose long-dead joys in memory last,
Whose shining days had ample scope;
He turns and lingers on the slope
Whose dusk leads down to sightless death:-
The sun once crowned that darkening cope,
And song once thrilled this weary breath.
Ali, he plods wearily to death,
Adown the gloaming into night,
But other lives breathe joyous breath
In morning's boundless golden light;
Their feet are swift, their eyes are bright,
Their hearts beat rhythms of hope and love,
Their being is a pure delight
In earth below and heaven above.
And you have hope and joy and love,
And you have youth's abounding life,
Whose crystal currents flow above
The stones and sands of care and strife.
May all your years with joys be rifc,
May you grow calmly to your prime,
A maiden sweet, a cherished wife,
A happy mother in due time.
All good you wish me, past my prime,
I wish with better hope to you,
And richer blessings than old Time
And Fate or Fortune found my due:
For you are kind and good and true,
And so when you are forty-seven
May spouse and children in your view
Make Home the happiest life-long Heaven.
poem by James Thomson
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Ghosts of Dreams
We are all of us dreamers of dreams,
On visions our childhood is fed;
And the heart of a child is unhaunted, it seems,
By ghosts of dreams that are dead.
From childhood to youth's but a span,
And the years of our life are soon sped;
But the youth is no longer a youth, but a man,
When the first of his dreams is dead.
'Tis a cup of wormwood and gall,
When the doom of a great man is said;
And the best of a man is under a pall
When the best of his dreams is dead.
He may live on by compact and plan
When the fine bloom of living is shed,
But God pity the little that's left of a man
When most of his dreams are dead.
Let him show a brave face if he can;
Let him woo fame and fortune instead;
Yet there's not much to do, but to bury a man
When the last of his dreams is dead.
poem by William Herbert Carruth
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His Youth
Dying? I am not dying. Are you mad?
You think I need to ask for heavenly grace?
\I\ think \you\ are a fiend, who would be glad
To see me struggle in death's cold embrace.
'But, man you lie! for I am strong-in truth
Stronger than I have been in years; and soon
I shall feel young again as in my youth,
My glorious youth-life's one great priceless boon.
'O youth, youth, youth! O God, that golden time,
When proud and glad I laughed the hours away.
Why, there's no sacrifice (perhaps no crime)
I'd pause at, could it make me young to-day.
'But I'm not \old\! I grew-just ill, somehow;
Grew stiff of limb, and weak, and dim of sight.
It was but sickness. I am better now,
Oh, vastly better, ever since last night.
'And I could weep warm floods of happy tears
To think my strength is coming back at last,
For I have dreamed of such an hour for years,
As I lay thinking of my glorious past.
'You shake your head? Why, man, if you were sane
I'd strike you to my feet, I would, in truth.
How dare you tell me that my hopes are vain?
How dare you say I have outlived my youth?
''In heaven I may regain it?' Oh, be still!
I want no heaven but what my glad youth gave.
Its long, bright hours, its rapture and its thrill-
O youth, youth, youth! it is my \youth\ I crave.
'There is no heaven! There's nothing but a deep
And yawning grave from which I shrink in fear.
I am not sure of even rest or sleep;
Perhaps we lie and \think\, as I have here.
'Think, think, think, think, as we lie there and rot,
And hear the young above us laugh in glee.
How dare you say I'm dying! \I am not\.
I would curse God if such a thing could be.
'Why, see me stand! why, hear this strong, full breath-
Dare you repeat that silly, base untruth?'
A cry-a fall-the silence known as death
Hushed his wild words. Well, has he found his youth?
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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I remember my youth and the feeling that will never come back any more — the feeling that I could last for ever, outlast the sea, the earth, and all men; the deceitful feeling that lures us on to joys, to perils, to love, to vain effort — to death; the triumphant conviction of strength, the heat of life in the handful of dust, the glow in the heart that with every year grows dim, grows cold, grows small, and expires — and expires, too soon — too soon before life itself.
quote by Joseph Conrad
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Bloodline
Eternal the kiss I breath
Siphon your blood to me
Feel my wounds of your god
Forever rape mortality
I smell of death
I reek of hate
I will live forever
Lost child pay the dead
Bleeding screams of silence
In my veins your eternity
I'll kill you and your dreams tonight
Begin new life
Bleed your death upon me
Let your bloodline feed my youth
First breath born come alive learn to kill
Bloodfest awaits to feed your hunger
Dark side has no rival test your faith in blood
Night hides the hunting packs a feeding frenzy
I'll kill you and your dreams tonight
Begin new life
Bleed your death upon me
Let your bloodline feed my youth
I am the first not the last
Condemned by a single kiss
Betrayed eternally I'll rip inside your soul
Contaminating the world
Defying god and son
Black heart that brings your death
Living in infamy
Drink the flesh of life itself
Prepare to reign a thousand years
I'll kill you and your dreams tonight
Begin new life
Bleed your death upon me
Let your bloodline feed my youth
Blame god chosen children
As you die I'm immortal
Faithless no religion
Stalking prey is my confession
Captive blood enslavement
Pain and hunger drives your madness
Drink flesh life itself
Prepare to reign a thousand years
song performed by by Slayer from God Hates Us All
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Idle Son
Young Benjamin left school this year
And stepped right in a job;
And he starts in hope of a life career,
Like his eldest brother, Bob.
But Sam, the lad who came between,
Born in the fateful year 'thirteen,
Still vainly seeks a place;
And the mark of his fate, too plainly seen,
Dawns in his listless face.
For Sam was born in a black year,
In the year of the world's black rage
To rob his youth of childish mirth;
And another curse was on the earth
In the year he came of age.
War and depression, this grim twain,
Have clouded life for a bright young brain.
Life smiles for Benjamin and Bob,
Each lucky in his age;
But the count of years falls ill to rob
Same of his heritage:
Too old for a youth's apprenticeship,
Untrained, too young for a man's firm grip,
Tho' a man in stature grown,
He lives to see his chances slip,
Thro' no fault of his own.
For Sam was born in a black year,
In a black year came from school.
But we who know past years of ease
Hold stern responsibilities
Ere his youthful ardours cool.
Ours is the duty, ours the task
To yield what youth has right to ask.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Old Friends Of Mine
The songs they were singing from the golden days of our spring. When laughter rang out from those old friend of mine.
Where have they gone in the passing of time, and where are they now those old friends of mine.
The years have clouded the memories of them. The grey hairs are showing, how long has it been?
Oh where did they go? The friends of my youth. The flames of a young life and the passions we knew.
The days are shorter. Life still goes on. Our children are playing like we used to do.
Will they remember the friends of their youth when they get our age in their September song?
Oh where have they now those old friends of mine?
31 Dec 1995
poem by David Harris
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Where Am I Going
Where am I going
Have I gone to far
Have I lost my mind
Where are my eyes
Oh have I seen to much
Have I lost my touch
Losing directions from growing infections
Poisoned desires of reaping life so young
What will I be like
When my head is bear
And my legs are weak
Will I be strong or barely keep alive
When Im thirty-five
Reaching dimentions that shatter conventions
Leads me to fear that Im growing old too soon
With every step and every breath
Its farther from youth and closer to death
And that things Ive realized
Now beckon me to shut my eyes
And I will grow to the age of maybe eighty years
In such little time
With this venturous mind
What am I saying
Dont I know myself from experience
Ill never change
Nor cease to sail the sky
Till the day I die
Ill come to conclusion with fear or illusion
Ill live how I feel
Cause no matter how fast or how slow
Youth will go
song performed by by Gino Vanelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Age considers, youth ventures
Age considers, youth ventures
Age visualizes, youth dreams
Age makes theories, youth experiments
Age loves, youth longs
Age sees people, youth sees places
Age knows belongings, youth discovers them
Age pains to gain, youth gains to others' pain
Age has heart, youth has mind
Age is thoughtful, youth is tactful
Age ponders, youth wonders
Age recounts, youth counts
Age is experienced, youth is in experience
Age is cautious, youth dashes
Age floats, youth swims
Age lives, youth still making a living
Age is in touch with termination, youth with determination
Age is confident, youth is competent
Age adds years to living, youth adds life to living
Age is lost in past, youth is drowned in future
Age is grown, youth is crown
Ageless is youth, youthless is age
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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When!
WHEN I am young again I'll hoard my bliss,
Nor deem that inexhaustible it is,
Remembering old age comes after this,
Joy grows to pain;
Nor waste one moment of youth's rose-sweet hours,
Nor trample one of all its countless flowers,
But drink the summer sun and soft spring showers,
When I am young again.
I will be wise with wisdom dearly won
By those who through life's wood have nearly run;
Learn what to do, and what to leave undone,
Risk or refrain.
I will not seek into my mouth to take
The bitter apple of the acrid lake,
But at clear fountains all my thirsts will slake,
When I am young again.
I will not brush the bloom to reach the core,
Remembering how it chanced with me before,
And bloom once lost returns not any more,
Hard cores remain:
I will fence round with prudence and secure
A lasting bloom whose freshness shall endure;
Oh, I will guard my peach of youth, be sure,
When I am young again.
When I am young again, I'll spend no breath
On bitter words the heart remembereth
When bitterness is swallowed up by Death
Holding sole reign;
I'll love so well that if they pass to sleep
Before me, I shall have no watch to keep
Over their tears-only my tears to weep
When I am young again.
I will not lightly joy nor idly grieve,
Nor for a heaven itself one soul deceive,
Nor will I be deceived, vainly believe,
Nor love in vain.
Come back, lost youth! Ah, Fate, that one gift give!
Then I will show that I have learned to live;
Youth shall be wise--and two and two make five--
When I am young again!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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2.03 Childhood - Youth - Old Age
The three around the fire sitting,
Gossiping of Life and its doings,
Reached a point thought provoking,
Of their journey and life prevailing. [1]
CHILDHOOD:
“Please do not leave me at this time,
Youth, do take me in your prime,
For I an entertainment will but be,
With playful antics in life’s journey.” [2]
YOUTH:
“No! You can not accompany me,
As struggles exist in my journey,
Your playfulantics will but not be,
In my stride of any necessity.” [3]
When on Youth tiredness grows,
Childhood memories do then glow,
But Old Age with its aged face,
Now stares at Youth in this race. [4]
OLDAGE
“Of no use it be to remember him,
You move ahead now in this game,
Childhood once gone never returns,
Forget Childhood - Love me in turn. [5]
Struggling ahead as you had moved,
Your tiredness now I shall remove,
Come on my lap relaxingly do lie,
And sleep with my pleasant lullabies.” [6]
Thinking of Childhood - its payful taps,
The Youth now lies in Oldage’s lap,
Who caressing with weak trembling hands,
Sings cradle songs of eternal sleep grand. [7]
poem by Munnan Misra
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Sonnet VII
The strong man's hand, the snow-cool head of age,
The certain-footed sympathies of youth -
These, and that lofty passion after truth,
Hunger unsatisfied in priest or sage
Or the great men of former years, he needs
That not unworthily would dare to sing
(Hard task!) black care's inevitable ring
Settling with years upon the heart that feeds
Incessantly on glory. Year by year
The narrowing toil grows closer round his feet;
With disenchanting touch rude-handed time
The unlovely web discloses, and strange fear
Leads him at last to eld's inclement seat,
The bitter north of life - a frozen clime.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Love In Hades.
I saw Love pass with Charon down
The pale infernal tide,
To visit in the starless town
All who for him had died.
The gay God and the old Ghost came
Slow to that sleepy shore,
And a dead passion burned like flame
Before each true-love's door!
Into this place and that he stept:
The eyes still held their tears,
Though some had their strange sorrow kept
More than ten thousand years.
He saw the old and young who went
Devoid of life, yet who,
Though all their joys on earth were spent,
Were to their dream-loves true.
He saw all who had worshipped him
Before thought's light withdrew,
Until the ages seemed to swim
Round him there dying too!
And he could feel his faint heart beat
A ghostly tune with theirs,
As he, too, might cease to compete
With the decaying years.
Ay! though a God, he went aghast
From the mysterious shore,
And Charon smiled when he at last
Touched time with him once more.
poem by Robert Crawford
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Life Is Sweet
It’s graduation night
and something doesn’t feel right
My friends and I are moving on
Everyone is up and gone
My childhood has slipped away
It left without anything to say
This doesn’t feel how I thought it would
Not as happy as I should be….
Is this my life slipping through my fingers
The smell of my childhood still lingers
And I’m feeling scared and alone
Everything I’ve known is close to gone
Now It’s my fourth year of college
Gotten through four years of knowledge
Lost some friends and made some new
Learned some things I thought I knew
Drank too much and studied less
Thought I’d break under all the stress
And now it’s coming to an end
I’m on the road, here comes a bend..
Is this my life slipping through my fingers
The smell of college bars still lingers
And I’m feeling scared and alone
Everything I’ve known is close to gone
This is it, this is my life changing
Everything I’ve ever known is rearranging
Can’t stop it now, won’t even try
Nothing I can do, no need to cry..
And now It’s been ten years
All the work and all the tears
Have paid off in the end
I met a man who’s my best friend
Tied the knot in the fall
Watched our baby learn to crawl
And now my life feels so complete
Life is just so sweet…
poem by Maggie lll
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